


kintsukuroi

by copperiisulfate



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 00:49:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16566404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperiisulfate/pseuds/copperiisulfate
Summary: He wants to say:Not everyone leaves. Not always--but it doesn't feel like it would suffice.





	kintsukuroi

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by some recent spoilers from the totsuka tatara short story associated with the memory of red film. i hesitate to really call them spoilers since we all know how this series begins but make of that what you will.

 

"Sometimes people leave,” Totsuka says, “and death has nothing to do with it."

There never ended up being a right time to talk about it. It certainly hadn't been around the time of the first funeral they'd gone to or even the second.

“Though death is a kind of leaving too," Kusanagi says. He's aware that it is a jarring theme for a beautiful summer day by the sea, and Mikoto, with all of his morbid moods, isn’t even here as an excuse for it. 

“Sure. Sometimes they leave and then they die, or it's death that takes them before they can leave. They don't come back either way." He looks out at the blaze of colour in the sky, at the gulls in the distance, his face oddly peaceful as he says, "Sometimes, you think that they would, if death didn’t get in the way, but even when it doesn't, they still don’t."

A beat, and then a laugh, harsh enough that it nearly makes Kusanagi wince. The precarious peace fractures momentarily. "Sometimes, I think that maybe it's easier if it's death."  
  
Kusanagi swallows, says nothing. He also doubts that they would be having this sort of conversation with Mikoto around. They never really seem to. This is not accidental for multiple reasons though it's hard to put a finger on it. That they are all individually accountable for this is also something he's only just starting to piece together.

In his own life, he has been so lucky in so many ways. He grew up with a family who adored him and surrounded him by attention and affection, kept him at the front and center of their lives. No, he does not know what it is like, not like that.

"That sounds like a terrible thing to say, doesn't it?" Totsuka’s voice is low against the crashing waves and the setting sun is before them. "That it's easier if it's death. At least, that way you know that otherwise, they would have tried. Otherwise, they would have wanted to--would have done _everything in their power to_ \--come back."

The first, perhaps closest, person Kusanagi had adored and lost was Mizoumi. Though that wound still feels fresh and would remain a dull ache behind his ribs for quite some time, his uncle’s death didn’t upend his world entire and he could attempt to at least make some sense of it.

(His youth, of course, is the calm before the storm to come though he does not know this yet.)

He wants to say: _Not everyone leaves. Not always--_ but it does not feel like it would suffice.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

“I never figured why people don't tell other people that they matter to them until it's too late." 

They're outside the bar a little after closing time. Kusanagi is finishing up his cigarette as Totsuka indulges in people-watching, both their backs to the brick walls that house their makeshift kingdom and its makeshift sleeping King.

"I imagine it's not always easy for everyone," says Kusanagi, "or maybe, the way in which they do it is different."

"Fair enough, but it made me think," Totsuka says, "I don't tell it to you enough, which made me think: I don't want you to never know. Maybe King can operate that way. For better or for worse...me? Not so much."

Kusanagi nearly chokes on the smoke. There's a comedy and a tragedy in it all at once, age old by now, or so it feels like.

“Mikoto is his own special breed of...whatever,” Kusanagi sighs, wondering when fond exasperation became the new normal around here. “Thought you figured that by now. Funny, because for a while, I'd thought that the two of you were rather alike. But now? I don't know. In some ways more than others, I guess. Clearly, not in this regard.”  
  
“You know, I used to wonder if we were all just broken people drawn to you like moths to a flame, trying to be better, trying to be more put-together, trying to be like you. The more I get to you know, the more I wonder if that was overly simplistic. Sorry, we seem to keep putting you on a bit of a pedestal.”  
  
“Sorry you had your rude awakening,” Kusanagi's lips quirk up at a corner, “and found out that I'm just a tired mortal after all.”  
  
“But a good one,” Totsuka says, with the kind of conviction that feels as if it could shift tectonic plates, “and that's hard to find.”  
  
“Sure your bar isn’t too low?” It’s meant as a joke with no real intent.  
  
“Can you blame me?” Totsuka parries it back.  
  
It gets to be too much too fast and Kusanagi has to pause, take a breath. 

“ _Well_ ," Kusanagi attempts at levity, "you do know that I have a reputation to uphold around here."

Kusanagi has always found it remarkable how aware Totsuka has always been of his own insecurities, having even learned the art of wearing them to his advantage from time to time.

His anger, however, was a different story altogether, far too many years of it to be unpacked easily, if at all.

And so, sometimes, it slips out when he isn't looking, isn't careful, and it's largely harmless, nonspecific, though still jagged around the edges.

 

 

 

***

 

 

  
It's easy to dedicate your life to something that you know will kill you. You will never be left behind by what kills you.

Can't be left behind if you're the first to go now, can you?  
  
It doesn't fall into place this nicely or neatly the first time Anna tells Totsuka that staying with Suoh Mikoto in HOMRA will be the end of him.  
  
Maybe, it doesn't ever really fall into place so concisely and consciously at any point.  
  
It doesn't really matter though because it hasn't really mattered because it won't really matter because--  
  
_Everything will turn out just fine._

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

“You know, I think they're off sometimes,” Totsuka says, apropos of nothing, as is often the case. He's sitting on a bar stool and swiveling from side to side just a little as Kusanagi wipes the counter-top.    
  
“What're you on even about?”  
  
“Well, sure, King brings us together with his powers, and then there are my...efforts with team-building activities..."

That last bit comes out a tad of embarrassed and Kusanagi can't help but throw a jab at it, fondly. “Ah, sentient and self-aware, are we?”  
  
Totsuka lets it roll off, easily carrying on undeterred. “But really, it's you! We all find you somehow, under this roof, by what feels like some warm, protective firelight, and it's where we find each other."

" _Ohh no_. Don't tell me you're going to go all poetic on me now," Kusanagi bemoans. 

"But it's true! You keep us together, in this place, and somehow, here, we can forget about all of it." He looks Kusanagi in the eye here and something shifts. "All the baggage," he says, "just for a while, checked at the door, all our failings and the insecurities and the bullshit along the way.”  
  
Kusanagi stills. “ _Hey._ ” Part of him wonders if Totsuka served himself seconds from the bottle he opened up earlier for tasting. Totsuka shakes his head as if clearing himself out of something, but Kusanagi levels him with a look. “What's _with_ you today?”

Totsuka tries to laugh it off. “Sorry, sorry. Must be feeling under the weather.”  
  
Kusanagi doesn't relent. There's been far too much blink-and-miss-it around here lately but Kusanagi is tired of missing it. " _Hey,_ " he tries again, softer this time.  
  
Totsuka reaches over the counter and takes Kusanagi's hand, the grip white-knuckled.

They stay like that, still like a tableau, for some time.

 

 

 

***

 

 

  
"It is a complete and utter team effort," Kusanagi says, later, much later, when they’re on the grass under the first bloom of spring, “keeping things together. You play a part in it and so does he. We all keep it together, keep each other together." He is thinking about growing, about hurting and healing, a cycle, like the changing seasons of the year, but there aren't enough words or the right ones at least.

"You help me keep myself together," he settles with. "Don’t ever forget it.”

“Okay,” Totsuka says simply.

“Okay?” Kusanagi raises a brow. “Unconvinced?”

“No. 'Okay' as in done! Sold! As in: You won at making me feel good about myself.” His smile is warm and easy and full. “Good job, Kusanagi-san!" He adds in what sounds like a gameshow host voice. "What would you like as your prize?”

“Hey," Kusanagi drops his voice, a tone of no-nonsense. "You know that I don’t say stuff for the sake of saying stuff, especially not to you.”

“I know. It’s just,” Totsuka shrugs. “I’m happy? And proud? And...don’t laugh, but that still feels new?”

Kusanagi doesn’t say anything for fear of his voice getting caught in his throat.

He takes in a big breath and lets it out, reaches for the back of Totsuka’s head with a hand and ruffles his hair before wrapping the arm around his neck in a headlock. It eventually winds up around his waist, throwing them in a heap of a lopsided embrace, but holding on tight, as if to a lifeline.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 _Thank you--_  

He tries to say it, up on the rooftop, in Kusanagi's arms, but there's blood in his lungs, in his windpipe, in his mouth, so he can't quite make it all out. 

Still, like a legacy, it hangs in the air.

_\--For loving me and never leaving me, and though it would have been nice to have had a bit longer, for letting me leave first._

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> kintsukuroi (金繕い) translates to "golden repair" and refers to the Japanese art form of repairing broken pottery with a lacquer that contains precious metals such as gold, silver, or platinum.


End file.
